


Still Waters

by ritzintherabbithole



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/M, Jonsa Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 19:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritzintherabbithole/pseuds/ritzintherabbithole
Summary: Sansa watches Jon from beneath still waters. Distant and removed. How long can distance last?A tale featuring rusalka from Slavic mythology.





	Still Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@mollyraesly](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40mollyraesly).



She watches him from afar. Removed, like always, from his domain, she nonetheless watches him, covets him, _knows_ him. This man of dark hair and gray eyes that has fascinated her for so long, that has always remained out of reach.

The others of her kind mock her endlessly for this obsession of hers, but she cares naught for the simple, simpering creatures of her brethren, those petty, pretty monsters who think of nothing else but luring humans, always men, to their watery doom. They compare their conquests in numbers as if it is enough to break the monotonous nature of their existence.

They call to her, her sisters, but she ignores their pleas, dismisses their summons for one more glimpse of him, for one last glimpse of the world she was forced to leave behind, before she resumes her duties.

The men that she hunts all resemble her husband, are all made of the same cowardly core that she so abhorred in Petyr. The love of chaos that proved to be her doom, not his, is always present in the men whose feet she entangles in her long auburn hair, always there in their beady little eyes as she watches the light fade. But they are never her _dear_ husband, these men she hunts, and so her search continues.

Perhaps that's why she is so drawn to him, this stranger, so unlike all the men she has ever known. Perhaps, that is why she viciously frightens all the other ruselka way when he is near the lake. She thinks he does not deserve so cruel a fate and she thinks the long 10 years she has spent as a harbinger of death have finally driven her mad.

So she watches him, protects him even, and lies that it is enough.

_________________________________________________________________

 

The moon is high in the sky, marking the witching hour, when she and her sisters rise from the lake. Their ethereal, pale forms are granted substance for this one night, so they can use their bodies, bend them in dance, in worship of the moon.

This is her secret calendar. Sansa collects the waxing and waning phases of the moon covetously, like the lemon cakes she enjoyed so much when she lived.

She steps up to the bank of the lake, her toes flexing and curling against the dewy grass, inhales its freshness so unlike the musky swamp scent of the water she calls home.

Sansa runs her hands across the plane of her little soft belly, cups her breasts and delights in the heavy sensation. She skims her fingers across her long, lithe legs, dips them into her center. She embraces the feeling of her body as if it was the return of an old lover, for this is her body, the one she used in her past life. She knows she is beautiful, the red of her hair shining like a flame and the blue of her eyes like sapphires. It is this beauty that condemned her, just as it is this beauty that makes her hunts so prolific.

She walks to the clearing where all her sisters gather, like a new colt learning to stand on its legs. It is always the same, having to fill her limbs with purpose, one she does not need for the rest of the days between full moons. It is too brief a time to acclimate wholly back to her body but she treasures it the same.

She steps into the circle created by her sisters, takes her place by their side, lifts her arms above her and begins. She twirls her hips in adulation, runs her hands through the length of her hair as she turns and turns, the beating of invisible drums thrumming her veins. She calls to the moon and She responds to her child, bathing her skin in its glow and Sansa cries out, in ecstasy and in sadness, for she is alive once more and _feels_ , as fleeting as the night is.

She jumps and dances, going around the circle, celebrating with her sisters when she hears it, the snapping of a twig, and the clearing goes silent. The drumming of her heart stops and she stills for out among the trees comes the stranger, the man of dark hair and gray eyes.

A beat, one moment, and her sisters draw together, hissing, their beautiful faces contorted into the grotesque, hands that have turned into claws outstretched towards the strange man who dares intrude upon them. He is rooted to the piece of earth on which he stands, transfixed by her sisters as all men are, his face torn between awe and horror.

A beat, one moment, and Sansa finds that she thrown her body between this stranger, _her_ stranger, and her sisters. They stop their advance and in unison, like featherless baby birds, tilt their heads to the side in questioning wonder and Sansa has never felt so alone.

Finally, Cersei with hair that shines like gold in the moonlight, steps forward from the pack and speaks. "You dare stand in the way of our justice? No mortal, no man, shall witness what transpires during our sacred rites. His life is forfeit. His life is ours."

"No." Sansa draws back, closer to the man behind her who has not made sound, but her answer is resolute. "He is not yours. We are not in the lake. We hold no dominion on land."

Cersei hisses her displeasure, the beauty that has bewitched so many men, falling to her anger. Just as suddenly, her anger is gone, her face placid, and Sansa does not trust it. "Would you stand against your sisters, little dove? We, who are your family." Sansa recognizes the false dulcet tones of her voice as the one Cersei used to turn her away from heaven, turn her into the creature she is now, and bristles. She fell sway to Cersei once, believed in the sweetness of her lies. She will not do so again.

"You are no family of mine, Cersei", Sansa begins, "the moon is still high in the sky and we are no more than flesh. You cannot harm him and we both know this."

Cersei's rage returns at her words and she shrieks, for Sansa has spoken true. Those of their kind have no power on this night. It is the price that must be paid for a taste of freedom.

"You should all return for the circle has been broken" Sansa continues, ignoring Cersei's rage, "we will have to find a new clearing for the next night."

There are now more words to be offered for she is right. Her sisters begin to leave, taking Cersei in their wake and Sansa knows a war has begun.

The last of her sisters leave through the trees and Sansa finds herself alone with the stranger, the task of swearing him to secrecy now her sole responsibility. She turns to face him, to begin her seduction of him, prepared for the sting of disappointment when he proves himself to be like all men, when his words shock her.

"It's you". Of all she thought to hear, the questions he must have she would dance around, this is most unexpected.

"It's you. The maiden from the lake", he continues as if he is unaware of the stupor his words have caused, "I recognize your face."

This is what wakes her. "My face?"

"Yes, your face. The reflection-- it is always in the reflection in the lake."

She is a stupid girl. Just like Cersei has told her countless times. She was so careful-- had thought she was so careful--to prevent him from seeing her as she watched him.

"At first I thought I was dreaming. To see a face like yours. But I would catch glances of you and so I hoped, that you were real." His gaze has never wavered from her face as he speaks, has held her gaze with his own, though she is as bare as the day she was born, and it is this which convinces her of the truth of his words and of the sentiment behind them.

"What is your name?" she asks of him.

"Jon."

"Jon" she whispers back and knows she will hold the secret of his name as her most prized possession. "My name is Sansa."

"Sansa", Jon says her name like a caress and she shivers, "that's a pretty name."

Jon smiles and Sansa feels her heart break.

 


End file.
